Alpha Squad
by Firebird'sDaughter
Summary: Mycroft Holmes is the British Government. But even the British Government needs a good right hand, and Mycroft's is a high-level MI6 team known only as 'Alpha Squad.' Made up of the best of the best, they are unshakeably loyal to each other and Mycroft; but each one hides a checkered, and sometimes bloody, past. These are their stories. (M upon further consideration of some themes)
1. Prologue: A Visitor

_Okay, so.__  
_

_Basically, this me wondering what Harry was like, wishing we could get to know Mycroft better, getting my head stuck in a blender and coming out with 'Hey, what if it was like this?' There are several of my original characters in this, but this is basically just all their backstories all at once. Each chapter will belong to one of the Alpha Squad, in number order._

_Which reminds me, something I couldn't put in the description: Alpha Squad are all identified by numbers; 01, 02, 03, and so on, from one to nine._

_Now that that's out of the way, here it is, and... Let me know what you think?_

* * *

Mycroft Holmes was not a happy man. He tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair, closing his eyes against the headline on the table beside him. He hadn't bothered trying to contact Dr. Watson. That would just make things harder than they needed to be. Besides, he doubted the doctor would be all too willing to talk to him right now. Normally, the silence of the Diogenes Club was a welcome relief from whatever chaos was going on in the political scene everyday, but now, it felt hard and cold. He rubbed his temples, taking a deep, quiet breath. His meditation was interrupted when one of the doormen approached his chair, carrying a note. He took it cautiously, turning it over. It said, simply:

'You have a visitor, Mr. Holmes.'

He frowned, but rose carefully, and, tucking the card into his pocket, followed the man out of the room.

"She just arrived." The doorman said, when they were free to speak again. "A lady." He opened the door to the private room Mycroft had often used for meetings with John, bowed the older Holmes brother in, then closed it and returned to his post.

Mycroft's 'visitor' turned from where she had been standing by the window, her eyebrows knitting together with concern. She took a few steps around the chair toward him, then stopped.

"I thought you and the team were in Iran."

"We were. I took the jet back." He nodded understandingly, eyes straying to the tea cart. "Sir, if you want to redirect us, Alpha squad is ready for action." He looked back up at her.

"What do you mean?" She smiled, just a little.

"We're prepared to investigate." He stared at her.

"Now that's... I can't have a fully equipped, high level MI6 team on this! You're needed elsewhere!" She folded her arms.

"I think I'm needed right here, right now." She paused. "Mycroft." He met her eyes for a moment, then sighed.

"You know me too well. Permission granted." She nodded, turning back toward the window and touching a transceiver in her ear.

"Operation is a go; I repeat, Alpha Squad: operation is a go." When she turned back, she saw he had an eyebrow raised.

"The jet, hm?" Her smile became a grin.

"I never said I was the only one on it." He sighed again, and she continued to watch him. "... I'm sorry. We should have prevented it."

"It wasn't your field." He told her sourly. "It was mine." He slumped into a chair, putting his head back in his hand, rubbing his forehead. She gazed at him sorrowfully for another minute, then took the few steps necessary to cross the room, sitting down on the arm of his chair and putting an arm around his shoulders gently, patting his arm with her other hand.

They sat there like that for a very long time.

Hours later, back in his office, Mycroft pulled out a large drawer of folders out from under his desk, lifting out the first one. It had been twenty years ago, maybe more. Back when he was still just an aide, albeit in a high government office. He smoothed a hand over the manilla folder, then opened it carefully, lifting out the two pictures, one from back then and one recent. She looked almost the same-pretty, but certainly not beautiful, with brown eyes, a long nose and sharp chin. The confident, self-assured expression was the same in both, but the newer picture added wisdom. He set them both aside, turning his attention to the file itself, though the pages told him nothing he didn't already know. It was a funny thing, trust, but he wasn't one to forget when a woman saves his life.

Nor was she one to forget when a man did the same for her.

He ran a finger down the edge of the folder, looking at the closely written label:

'Alpha 01: Harriet Watson'


	2. Alpha 01: Harriet Watson

_Aaaaand..._

_Here is Chapter 1. I wouldn't mind hearing what people think. Please? It would encourage me? And I'm curious if you like the way I put the title of the next chapter as the last line of the current one as the name of the file. I thought it was cool idea, but it's me judging my own work, and that's not very reliable. So yeah._

_Also: If you think this seems rather similar to the beginning of Iron Man, it **was** inspired by that scene. I would like to pose a small thank you to the writers of that movie for the idea. Obviously, this __differs in that people actually survive. Callooh callay._

* * *

Dust and sand gathered in the corners of the military Jeep's windows as it bumped along across the sand dunes. Mycroft, merely an aide, though for a major department of British Intelligence, had only the faintest idea that they were somewhere in the Middle East. He looked around at the soldiers escorting him, holding the briefcase full of files to his chest tightly. The men around him were tense, with serious expressions and locked jaws. He swallowed. It was a simple mission, really, getting military documents to an outpost off of British soil; they just had to pass through hostile territory to do it.

"So, uh..." He began. Maybe, many years from now, he would acquire the cold composure he saw so many of his superiors wear, but right now, he was in his twenties, surrounded by men with machine guns. It would be hard **not** to be nervous. "Was there an order not to talk?" He tried to joke, hoping to elevate the tension. No one spoke. "No? Or is that a yes? You're going to have to give me more to work with, here."

"They're afraid of you." Said the driver suddenly, making him jump.

"Oh! Dear god, you're a woman. I didn't even notice that." In the rearview mirror, he saw her brown eyes smile.

"It's the uniform, Mr. Holmes. It's sort of ambiguous." He nodded a bit.

"Right. So... What are your names?"

"I'm Harry." Said the woman. "Harry Watson. Two guys on either side of you are Blake and Lee. In the back's Roy and George. Kid next to me is Bill." She swung the jeep around a turn before continuing. "I'm a Captain. The rest are Lance Corporals, save for Bill. He's an outright Corporal."

"Ah." After a pause, Mycroft had to ask. "Why is the Captain driving?" This got a chuckle out of the whole group.

"Because she wanted to." Said Roy from the back.

"We think it makes her feel in control." Said the Lance Corporal on his right. "Blake, by the way." The atmosphere seemed to relax slowly until Harry began checking the road uncomfortably.

"Bill?" She asked the Coporal. "Weren't we supposed to meet another caravan twenty clicks back?" Bill frowned as well, repeating the question into his radio. There was a pause, a moment of absolute silence while he listened to it.

"Radio's scram-" He began, but at that moment, an explosion rocked the Jeep, blasting through the windshield in a hale of bullets, shrapnel, and glass.

"Bill? **Bill**!" Harry shrieked, looking to him in a brief moment of calm.

The Corporal was slumped against his seat, his uniform matted with blood, his eyes blank.

Then Harry was barking orders, yelling for them to get out of the car and for Mycroft to stay in it, and the other soldiers were readying their guns. They scrambled out, vanishing into the dunes as the sound of gunfire echoed. For several minutes, that was all he heard.

And then it went silent.

Mycroft realised, with a sinking heart, that they were dead.

He was wondering what he should do; risk fleeing the Jeep, or stay where he was, when he heard a sound at the door. It was yanked open, and Captain Watson stood there, her uniform a bloodied mess, her hair free of it's short ponytail and trailing wildly into her face, her helmet gone, a revolver in her hand. "Get out." She wheezed.

"You said-"

"Get out!" He obeyed her quickly, towing the briefcase with him. She seized his wrist, dragging him away as fast as she was able, but they still had to duck and cover their heads from the rain of debris when the car exploded. They crouched behind a dune, laying low. The silence returned, and continued this time. Harry waited until it became tedious, and then half an hour longer, before tucking the gun away. She fell onto her side, breathing heavily. "They must think we went with the Jeep." She whispered, then coughed. He looked at her for the first time, and was concerned by what he saw. Something had ripped a hole in her lower abdomen, and though she'd wrapped something around her stomach to slow the bleeding, her clothes were still red with blood. It wasn't her only injury, either; there were cuts and bruises around her face and on her arms, and as well as a bullet wound in her left leg. Blood clotted at the corner of her mouth, and she was covered in sweat.

"The others?" He was almost afraid to ask. She shook her head.

"We're all that's left." He swallowed. The Jeep he was riding in hadn't been the only one in the caravan. She pushed her hair out of her face, looking around. "We can probably get up." She told him, and he nodded, stumbling to his feet in the sand. Harry had slightly more trouble. Clutching her wound with one hand, she winced as she lurched up, leaning her weight on the other. Once standing, she planted herself, looking around. "Bloody hell..." He looked at her. "We're going to need to do some scavenging. What I got won't last us much more than a few days." He frowned.

"What does-"

"You know vultures? Big, ugly birds that pick things off dead bodies?" He felt his face turn white.

"Oh."

"Yeah." She limped forward, still holding her stomach. "Let's get this over with." He didn't know how long it took, searching the bodies of the other soldiers and their bags for supplies, but in his mind, it was **too** long. He imagined it was harder for Harry. These were **her** men, **her** comrades, after all. But the Captain maintained her composure through the entire ordeal, her head high, her arm covering her wound. Finally, she gave the okay to begin walking, and they headed off, slowly, towards a rock face in the distance.

The day was a long one. The farther she walked, the more Harry's stomach wound bled, and the more pain she seemed to be in. Finally, within several hours walk-it seemed-of the cliff, she fell to her knees, breathing hard. Mycroft stumbled back to her, his formal suit not at all meant for this sort of travel.

"Captain!" He dropped to his knees beside her, trying to hold her up. "Captain, can you hear me?" She gave him a look like he had just asked her the stupidest question in the world.

"Do I look deaf?" She demanded in a raspy voice. He didn't try to answer.

"We're almost there. Do you think you can make it?" She gritted her teeth.

"I am a member of the British Armed Forces. Of course I can make it." With that, she heaved herself up, pack and all, and though she stumbled and nearly fell, Mycroft reaching out to catch her if she did, she managed to begin a choppy, determined pace toward the rocks.

When they reached it, however, her strength gave out entirely, and she slumped to the ground in a small alcove they were lucky to find, sheltered from the wind and sand. He set his own pack down and moved to her, sliding hers off her shoulders. Looking down at her, he was struck by how young she actually was, for there was no way she could be any older than him. That was when her eyes opened a crack, and she became aware he was staring at her.

"Problem?" He jumped in surprise.

"Oh, uh, no." He set the bags against the wall and returned to her, taking her arm and, despite her protests, helping her to sit against the back wall. "Er... Do you want me to look at it? The wound, I mean." He amended when she stared at him. "I... I did a brief stunt in medical school." She laughed, but it turned into a pained gasp.

"I know. I saw your file. Is there anything you **didn't** do?" He smiled a little.

"Not much." She didn't smile back, but she did allow him to remove the bloodied bandages and examine the gash, so he couldn't have been **too** intolerable. His light mood, however, dissipated at what he found. "It looks like part of your shirt got dragged in there with the bullet." He told her. "Primitive stuff we have here, it would be better to leave the bullet itself in, but given where we are..." He swallowed again, and this time it tasted vile. "We don't know what our time frame is. This could get pretty bad." She leaned back against the wall, looking around.

"Nice place." He looked at her oddly.

"What are you on about?"

"If push comes to shove, little aide, you're gonna have to leave me here." He stared at her like she'd gone completely mad.

"**Leave** you here? What are you talking about?" She rolled her eyes.

"You're kidding me. An injured soldier is just gonna slow you down, especially if I can't carry my weight." She looked at him sideways. "You ever held a gun?" He shook his head. She sighed, then reached down and pulled out the revolver she'd been carrying. "Alright. This is loaded, so don't go waving around." She showed him where the safety was, how to fire it, and how to carry it without shooting yourself in the foot.

"What about you?"

"That wasn't the only gun I had." She showed him a slightly smaller handgun tucked into a leg holster. "Doesn't do as much damage, but way I feel right now, I don't know how good my aim'd be." She relaxed a little, taking deep breaths. "For now, we'll just have to bandage it. Think I found some gauze. My pack, left front." It took him awhile to find it, but he did eventually. After cleaning it out the best he could, he re-bandaged her, and let her rest, propped up against the cave wall, and talk him through setting up camp. Dark had fallen by the time he was done, and they curled up under the blankets they had taken from the others.

They slept in silence the first night, but as they days wore on, and Harry's condition became worse, they began to talk. It turned out 'Harry' was short for 'Harriet,' she'd been on the force for several years, and she liked dark chocolate. One night, while huddled against the cave wall, she told him something else.

"I've got a younger brother." In the dim light, he couldn't see if she was looking at him.

"... So do I."

"Really? What's he like?"

"You first." She sighed.

"His name's John. He's stedfast. Reliable. Kind of guy who would never let you down if you paid him." Mycroft had to chuckle.

"He's different from mine. The only thing you can rely on Sherlock to be is a know-it-all." She laughed faintly behind him. He was glad he'd amused her, at least slightly, and drifted off to sleep with that in mind.

Eventually, they day came when she couldn't even sit up.

He sat beside her, helping her eat and ignoring her complaints. She tried to tell him he should move, try and find other people, but his answer was simple:

"I'm not leaving you."

There are somethings you just can't share without becoming close, and camping out in a desolate cave in the Middle East for goodness knows how long while one of you is dying is one of them. When he finally heard the helicopters, running out to wave them down before dashing back to her side, he refused to be pulled away from her until he was certain she was safely secured to the stretcher; and even then he held her hand until he couldn't reach it anymore.

"One day, I'll get you promoted for this, I promise." He told her as the stretcher began rising, and she grinned weakly.

"Yeah, like you're **ever** gonna have the authority to promote **me**." He handed over the briefcase to the officer who asked for it, allowing himself to be helped into the other helicopter, but never taking his eyes off the one that carried her.

And somehow, he knew that she was doing the exact same thing.

* * *

Mycroft smiled a little at the memory of Harriet mocking his position. After all, it had only been a few years after that when he'd made good on his promise, pulling the alcoholic, former Captain out of a rut and into the government. She'd been only an aide, of course, and he had no idea that she'd rise to the position she was now. He sighed, closing the file. If she hadn't remembered he was in the car, hadn't risked herself to go back for him, he'd be dead. And she'd be dead if he hadn't stayed with her. That was what had started the link of loyalty that would eventually lead to the Alpha Squad-but it wasn't the only thing. Setting Harriet's file aside, he pulled out the next one. There was only one photo in this one, an official shot similar to the newer one of Harry. The man was Middle Eastern, tall, and good-looking. Still, even in the picture, his dark eyes looked immeasurably sad. Mycroft couldn't blame him. If it hadn't been for Harriet, this man would have faced an entirely different, very unpleasant fate. The label of the file was written in the same, cramped handwriting:

'Alpha 02: Kieran El-Hashem'


	3. Alpha 02: Kieran El-Hashem

_Here we are, back in business. Sorry this took so long. Kieran's story is a bit longer than Harriet's. So, uh... Read and tell me what you think?_

* * *

He was frightened, and he did **not** like being frightened. Before opening his eyes, he tested his surroundings, and was even less pleased to learn that he was strapped to a bed. He remembered hearing muffled voices speaking in a strange, unnatural language.

English.

He **hated** English.

Then again, he hated a lot of things these days.

Kieran El-Hashem attempted to pull free of his bonds again, to no avail. Finally, he gave up, opening his eyes. He was in a small, bare room, almost like a hospital, with some sort of dark mirror in the wall leftmost of the door. Kieran growled.

The Brotherhood would not be pleased by this.

He tried to think back to the things he had been taught, born and raised in a sect that believed in the superiority of it's members, that everyone else must die. He felt around his mouth with his tongue, discovering that they had removed the poison capsule hidden in it's back. He sighed, accepting that the impossible had happened; he was captured, with no method of any sort escape. Though he was one of the strongest men in the Brotherhood, he could not pull free of the straps that held him there. Obviously, they knew how the Brothers worked. Two of the first things Kieran had learned was to **never** be taken alive, and that **anything** could be a weapon.

Those were some of the things that made the Brotherhood of the Moon so formidable.

They feared neither death nor pain, willingly throwing their lives away for their dream. They weren't just Middle Eastern, either. Kieran was, but anyone who took the oath and marked their arms in the fashion of the Brotherhood was one of **them**, not bound to any country. In fact, the Brotherhood refused to ally itself with anything, be it religion, government, or man. They subscribed to one belief: that they were superior. Many men joined just for the sake of the killing, but Kieran had been born into it, the child of a Brother and... And nothing. He had never heard about his mother, nor had he ever been brought up to want to. There were no women in the Brotherhood-it was entirely men, and from things he had seen, he was not entirely sure his mother had **wanted** to bear him.

That sort of thought, however, was not one that occupied his mind for long. He had been trained to think of those outside the Brotherhood as disposable. Trash. He twisted his wrists in his restraints once again.

The Brotherhood **will** not be pleased by this.

* * *

"He's Middle Eastern. I'm telling you. Maybe Saudi Arabia." Harriet Watson had only been an aide in the department for a few months, and it was common gossip she had only been given the job because one of the higher-ups liked her. Now, however, she was arguing with several senior officials in a down-right, confident voice, like she'd been doing it all her life. "And it's not just about his looks. His tattoos are written in Arabic-all of the Brothers have their oath tattooed on their arms **in their native tongue**!"

"The Brotherhood of the Moon is not aligned with any country." One of the older men said. "They seek merely to kill those who they do not like." Harriet sighed.

"That's true, **but**, they also tattoo their arms with their oath and symbols."

"And they make note of the people they've killed in the same fashion." Added a very elderly gentleman, flashing a small smile at the young aide, who smiled back. The three other men looked at each other.

"None of this matters." A younger man pointed out. "He's unconscious right now." At that moment, there was a loud growl from the other room, making the young man and one of the others jump. Harriet and the two older ones merely glanced at the one-way mirror. The man was awake, and struggling.

"Not anymore." Quipped Harriet cheerfully, getting a glare. They turned on the microphone quickly, and were privy when the man muttered to himself quietly.

"What the bloody hell is he-"

"He's definitely Saudi Arabian." Harriet interrupted. "That's Najdi Arabic. It's spoken in the central regions of the country."

"If you know so much, then what did he **say**?" Snapped the young man, trying to embarrass her.

He failed.

"'The Brotherhood will not be pleased by this.'" She recited immediately. It took a moment for her to realise they were all staring at her. She looked at her shoes as quickly as she could. "Had to learn universal Arabic when I was in the army. Took it a few steps further when I got home." The eldest man leaned forward on his cane.

"How much do you know?"

"A few dialects. Egyptian, Mesopotamian, Levantine, and some other ones." The man met her eyes.

"Can you talk to **him**?" He asked, pointing at the young man in the next room. She swallowed, flushing.

"Well... Najdi isn't exactly my most fluent..." The excuse sounded lame, especially after her split-second translation. "... Yes." The man sat back.

"Then we are saved the trouble of bringing in another translator."

* * *

Kieran was not surprised when the door opened, but when a woman came in. She was young, not much older than him, if at all, and of average height. She looked lean, and even muscular, despite the tight skirt and frilly shirt she wore. She click over in high heeled shoes, taking the chair beside the bed, and giving him his first real look at her face.

She was the first girl, especially of his age, that he had seen up close that wasn't dead, mutilated, or otherwise beaten.

And as far as Kieran was concerned, she was beautiful.

He was fully aware this could be due to his circumstances, that it was all in his own head, but for a moment, he really didn't care. Then he remembered she was an enemy. Not only not sworn, but a **female** as well, and he steeled himself against his fascination.

It was hard. The fascination put up a fight.

She seemed to see some sort of conflict playing across his face, and smiled-a little nervously, he thought-as she tucked some of her long brown hair behind her ear.

"There's nothing to be afraid of." She told him, in surprisingly good Arabic; his own dialect, no less. "I'm not going to hurt you." He bit his tongue to keep from answering her, and she sighed. "But that's not it, is it? You've been captured, and you see no way out. Never be taken alive." He looked sideways at her. "Never leave even the slightest possibility you might speak." Either this woman had spent a lot of time dealing with devoted warriors, or being one herself. "I served in the Armed Forces." That answered that question. "I can't claim I know what it's like to be completely alone, because I never was. I had some one there for me. And..." She faltered slightly here, but her brown eyes never left his black ones. "I... I'd appreciate if you thought of me as here for you." She reached out and slid her fingers into his. He tried to recoil from the alien touch, but the restraints did their job well, holding him in place. He barked something at her, he was pretty sure it was a swear, and she flinched back. Still, the feeling of her cool, thin fingers pressed against his calloused palm remained, though she did not reach for it again. "I'm trying to protect you." She told him, sounding only a little shaken, and that could have been an act. "They've got other ideas for getting what they want." Since he had already broken his silence, Kieran risked a sentence.

"Do your worst."

* * *

Harriet slipped out of the room feeling slightly more shaken than she would have liked. She had fought terrorists before, fought and killed them, and not felt a thing. She'd been defending her country. But she'd never had to sit down and look one in the face, let alone **talk** to him. The man belonged to a group that didn't even have a **cause**, and the blank, absolute devoution she'd seen in his eyes was unnerving.

Not to mention the fact that he was handsome.

One of the conclusions Harry had come to not long after leaving the army was that she was a lesbian. That she **liked women**. She had a **girlfriend**, a tall, strapping blond named Clara; a girlfriend she **loved**.

Or so she'd thought so, until she'd laid eyes on this guy.

Something about the fierce, fine-boned face made her stomach flip in a way that it had never done for Clara, for any man, for **anyone**. Okay, **maybe** Mycroft, but that was different. The absolute loyalty she felt towards him was not at all romantic, though many had assumed it was. She was **still** getting rude comments about her 'sleeping her way to the top;' usually, she laughed at these people, but sometimes, if it got very bad, she'd ream them for disrespecting Mycroft, for implying he was that sort of person. Eventually, it became common knowledge that a sure way to piss Harriet Watson off was to insult Mycroft Holmes; and god forbid you actually **threaten** him.

**That** was a sure way to get killed.

Still, her mind wandered back to the dark, wild eyes, and she swallowed. If the rest of British Intelligence had their way, they'd break him, or do their best to. She had a feeling he'd find a way to kill himself long before that happened, and the thought made her heart sink. Just thinking about him made her feel a flighty. Steeling herself, she felt for her mobile, dialing a number without really looking and putting it to her ear.

"Mycroft Holmes."

"Mycroft, it's me. This guy... He's different."

"What do you mean?" It was an actual question. Harriet's opinion was one Mycroft not only respected, but wanted to know and listened to.

"He's not going to break. No matter **what** we do to him. I get the feeling that the Brotherhood isn't exactly kind to it's members, and it seems unlikely there's anything we can do to him that hasn't already been done." He was quiet while he thought.

"That's true." He said finally. "All of the Brothers we've captured-though they all committed suicide-showed signs of abuse. It's highly probable that the senior Brothers torment the newer ones. This man is young. He can't have been with them for very long."

"But he believes in them completely. I saw it in his eyes."

"So what do you suggest?" She swallowed again. This was going to be a hard idea to sell.

"Kindness. It'll be the one thing he hasn't encountered yet." There was a pause while her boss thought about it.

"It will be difficult, Harriet. If it doesn't work..." Her heart thudded again. If her idea didn't work, things would get a lot harder for this man.

"Let me try. The Brotherhood views women as disposable and useless. Merely toys that can be tossed aside when they're done with them." She shuddered involuntarily, remembering the seminar all the female soldiers had had to attend about what could happen if they were captured. And from what she had learned, that sort of practice was not only typical, but everyday for the Brotherhood. In fact, it was essentially the only way they had children. "If a Brother has a daughter, they kill her as a baby. **I** throw him off guard. He's unsure of how to proceed when being interrogated by a woman." There was more silence on the other end.

"You know how he must have been trained, Harry." She frowned. Mycroft only called her by her nickname when he was being serious. "You're right, of course. All those things you mentioned - they'd be commonplace to him, even if he hasn't done them himself, he's **seen** it done. Now, I'm guessing your 'kindness' game involves removing his restraints."

"Yes, that would be-" He didn't let her finish.

"I'm going to let you do this, Harry, on one, absolute condition."

"I'm listening."

"If he hurts you in any way, shape, or form, he dies. In that instant." His tone sent a cold shiver down her spine.

* * *

Kieran was again surprised when the girl came back in, and not only stayed, but came over and undid the straps holding him to the bed.

"You have lost your mind." He informed her cooly. She just smiled that annoying smile of hers at him, and then had the nerve to offer him a drink when he sat up.

"So, what's your name?" She asked, cheerfully. He glared at her for a moment.

"What's yours? And how do you speak Arabic so well?"

"I asked first." They continued to stare at each other in a brief battle of wills - one he lost, she having the upper hand in the entire situation.

As well as a power over him he dearly hoped she didn't know about.

"Kieran El-Hashem." She tilted her head.

"Hm." He got the feeling the meaning of his name was not lost on her. "Harry. Well, Harriet Watson." He hesitated, then nodded.

"What do you want?" She ignored his question, shoving the cup of water towards him. He eyed the cup. "... Plastic?" She laughed.

"They're worried that if you get glass you'll turn it into some sort of weapon. I said I wouldn't put it past you." He rubbed his wrists, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Is that a joke?"

"No." He sighed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. This woman was not like anything he'd ever come across before, and he did **not** like being uncertain. He stared down at his hands, rubbing one of the scars that ran across his palm. He wondered, privately, if any of his Brothers were missing him. He doubted it. Not even his father had ever spared him much time, and they probably all assumed him to be dead by now. He realised Harriet was watching him with a concerned expression, her eyebrows knitting together, and he frowned.

"What?" She reached over and tilted his face gently, and he knew she was looking at the place where his head had hit the cement. They stayed like that for a moment before he realised he was enjoying it and jerked away quickly. Her hand stayed extended for a moment, then she sighed and dropped it.

"It doesn't look that bad." She told him. He just glared at her, wondering when she was going to start asking questions. "I wish you wouldn't keep looking at me like a deer caught in headlights." He frowned at the comparison, but didn't respond. She continued to talk about anything but the information he assumed they wanted until her radio buzzed. She switched briefly to English to speak to them before turning back to him. "I have to go, Kieran." He didn't recall telling her she could use his first name. "I'll see you tomorrow." As she stood, she reached over a touched his cheek so quickly he didn't have a chance to move away, then strode out of the room, leaving him entirely confused and thoroughly conflicted.

* * *

Harriet was surprised to find Mycroft himself waiting for her in the adjacent room.

"I'm definitely getting to him." She assured her superior. "He was pretty thrown when I didn't ask any questions." Mycroft was nodding faintly, but the dismissive way he said 'Good, good' told her that that kind of supervision hadn't been the reason for his appearance. She scowled. "**Mycroft**. I'm **fine**." He looked at her, his eyebrows knitting together with concern, and she felt bad for the nasty tone in her voice. Mycroft Holmes did not worry about many people. "Alright, I'm sorry. I know you're worried, but I don't think he's going to try to hurt me." He sighed.

"Harriet, the Brotherhood has a reputation. There's a **reason** that no one we've had has been able to best them in combat; most of their training methods, if we were to do them, would be a violation of human rights. Many of them **die** going through it. It's the reason the Brotherhood is too small to do more than tiny, organised strikes. If they had an army, we wouldn't stand a chance." He put a hand on her shoulder. "This man is one of the greatest fighters in the **world**. If he decides to harm you, there's no question he'll succeed if given the chance." She looked up into his eyes.

"Then I won't give him a reason to."

* * *

The days wore on (or, at least, Kieran thought they were days) in a similar manner. Harriet would show up, talk to him (or rather, **at** him) for awhile before being called upon to leave. He insisted to himself that he didn't enjoy the time with her, but the truth was, he actually did. It was embarrassing to admit, but most of the time, he just used her talking as an excuse to stare at her. The more he saw of her, the more he came to the conclusion that she wasn't entirely 'beautiful' per se, but there were other things about her that caught his interest. She had one dimple on the right side of her face that appeared when she smiled, and her brown hair was laced with red highlights that were illuminated whenever she tilted her head. He wasn't sure if her liked or disliked the way her brown eyes seemed to bore right through his skull, but when she laughed, they danced like firelight. It was only the day she didn't come that he was able to get ahold of himself. Ignoring the fact that her lotus-like scent still hung in the air, he stood carefully and meandered over to the door. With Harriet distracting him, had hadn't previously considered the possibility that he might be able to break it down. He had no doubt there were guards on the other side, but that sort of thing had never stopped him before. Besides, if they killed him, that suited him just fine. He ran a hand along the wood, pressing on it with his shoulder slightly, and came to the conclusion that it was reinforced. Breaking through it with his own strength was definitely not an option. They must have thought of that. He decided to get creative, crossing back to the bed and checking its feet. Bolted to the floor, of course. Then, he looked up at the light fixture illuminating the room. He climbed up on the bed, his height allowing him to reach the ceiling, pulled the fixture, which was much less secured than the bed, open and smashed the bulb. Dropping to the ground, he heard the door open, and saw the faint outline of two guards enter, one staying ready while the other went to close the door. Kieran's eyes adjusted quickly, he had spent most of his life in the dark, and he had used that as an advantage. He grabbed the first one from behind, slamming him bodily into the other before he could close the door. He palmed a handgun from one of their holster's, then slipped out while they were both dazed, slamming the door as quickly as he could. It was so damn **easy**. He heard another man coming at him from the side, but turned around and shot him before he got close. Now they swarmed him, and he had to give them credit for not being stupid enough to try and take him one at a time.

But they were all so **slow**.

Kieran settled into a rhythm he knew, his movements easy and natural. Fighting was something he could do, and it put Harriet Watson out of his mind - for now at least. Eventually he made the decision to move. There weren't enough of them to take him down, but they **were** impeding his progress. If he wanted an actual chance at getting out, he'd have to out maneuver them. Two of them tried to cut off his escape, but he shot them both. He wasn't a good enough shot to kill them on the run, but they both collapsed, and that was what he needed. Dashing through the hallways, he remembered that he couldn't speak, much less read, English. He hadn't the faintest idea where he was going. He needed leverage, something that would give him an upper hand.

And when he accidentally smashed through a door into a room containing a small group of, thankfully, unarmed people, it seemed he'd found it.

* * *

Mycroft and Harriet were at a meeting when he got the text, pulling out his phone and then handing it to her:

_Subject 417 has escaped, and now has hostages. Miss Watson's presence is requested._

She shot a look at him. He nodded, taking the phone back. Quietly as she could, Harriet set the files on the table beside him and walked quickly out of the room.

"What's the situation?" She asked, coming up beside the head of security.

"Well, for one thing, the man's out of his mind. I've got a few agents dead, and even more critically injured. I'd bet you ten pounds we're going to have to put him down." Her lips twisted. "We've got the army surrounding the building. Not even he can make it out on his own now, and I think he knows it."

"Method of communication?"

"Rec room's got a land line."

"Have you tried calling?"

"You're the only one around who speaks Arabic. We thought about calling in someone else, but one of the old guys pointed out that he knew you. Might be easier." He jerked his head towards the back, and Harriet followed the gesture. Standing by a group of soldiers was the elderly gentleman from the interrogation team, the one who had backed her up on Kieran's nationality. He nodded to her, and she smiled back before turning her attention back to the agent.

"Do we have visual?" The man nodded and lead her over to the security monitors. She surveyed the room, and had to agree the odds were bad.

Kieran not only had ten hostages, he had a gun.

"He stole the weapon off one of two men he locked in his room." The man explained, as if guessing her thoughts. "They radioed in immediately." She nodded, pulling out her mobile.

"What's the rec room number?"

* * *

Kieran had been expecting the phone to ring, but he hadn't thought it would take this long. The other people in the room were thoroughly terrified of him - that wasn't problem. It was his own impatience that was getting to him, his inherent desire got as much distance as he could between this place and himself as soon as possible.

He also had to keep reminding himself that Miss Watson had nothing to do with it.

When the phone did ring, he slouched to his feet, crossing over to it and picking up. The person on the other end didn't wait for him to speak.

"Now Kieran," Harriet told him, with the tone of a mother scolding a small child, "What **is** the meaning of this?" He suppressed a groan. **Of course** it was her.

"Maybe some of us don't belong here." He snapped. She sighed.

"Why? Because the Brotherhood is all you've ever known? There's more to the world, Kieran." His teeth grit together.

"I don't care about your world, or **you**." Alright, that last part was a bald faced lie. He hoped she couldn't hear it in his voice.

"That's unfortunate, because I care about you." He swallowed against the back flip his heart had just done. Just an interrogation tactic, he reminded himself, but another part of him prayed desperately that it was true.

"You're lying/" He accused aloud.

"Why would I lie about something like that? It's not like anyone else can understand me." His only response was a growl. "Listen, Kieran, we can work this out, you and I. Just let the people in there go."

"That is **not** happening." He informed her firmly, and slammed the phone down, storming away.

When it rang again, he shot it.

* * *

Harriet groaned, tossing her mobile aside and biting her lip. She had to get to him somehow, but she was running out of options. Finally, she made up her mind.

"I'm going in."

"What? If you go in there, Mr. Holmes will have my head!"

"If I **don't** go in there, he'll have **all** our heads. It's the only option!" The man grumbled, but nodded until she continued. "Alone."

"Are you nuts?"

"Quite possibly, but I throw him off guard. There's got to be **some** reason he's been so passive about spending the last two weeks staring at me." Though the man's eyebrows raised, he finally conceded, but insisted on having a platoon follow her at least to the door. Once there, she turned to one of the soldiers. "Anyone in there have a mobile?" He nodded, giving her a number that she promptly called.

* * *

One of the men's phone's rang, and Kieran snatched it before he could answer.

"What-"

"Kieran, I'm coming in. I just want to talk, so no shooting until you hear me out, okay?" He hesitated. "I'm not armed, I promise."

"... Fine." He muttered, hanging up quickly. The door opened slowly, and he turned around as she stepped in and closed it behind her. He dropped the phone, stepping on it. They must have called her out of something important because she looked nicer than usual, her hair done up in a bun at the back of er head and her nails painted. She was still wearing that lotus scented perfume that, when it reached him, made his head spin a bit, and not because it was too strong. He shook his head to clear it, facing her as she walked forward so that they were a few steps apart.

"There, see? Not hard, is it?" He scowled, angling himself away from the hostages so that if he made any slips, they wouldn't see.

"You're insane."

"Maybe. But I did live through an impromptu desert camp out with an infected bullet wound in my stomach, so sometimes, insanity helps." He risked a glance at her.

"What do you want?" He asked, the question being one she had never really answered.

"I want you to realise you're better than this." He stared at her. "Kieran, this isn't you. Maybe you were brought up this way, but it's not your nature. You could be so much more if you just accepted the fact that there **is** life outside the Brotherhood." When he didn't answer, she decided to press a nerve. "Do you even know your mother's name?" He jerked back.

"Don't talk about her!" The hostages, at a loss for what was being said, flinched. Harriet, however, took an unflinching step forward.

"She wasn't given a choice over wether she wanted to have a child, was she? That's something you've had to come to terms with all your life. But it's the same thing that you weren't given a choice about how you got to live." She reached out towards him, her hand hovering in the air. "And I'm sure that's a fate she would never wish upon you; because, no matter what your father did to her, you are still her son." He was very embarrassed to discover he was crying, staring at her in a sorrowful, awestruck fashion. She smiled gently. "She still loves you, wherever she is. And so do I." Finally, he gave up on restraint. It was like all the air just came out of him in a single, tearful sigh. He felt the gun drop from his fingers to the floor. It might have gone off. He didn't notice, because in that moment, his entire world became the woman standing in front of him. He sank slowly to his knees, dropping his head, his arms just hanging by his sides. He heard her take one step forward, and then her hand gently came down on top of his head.

They stayed there, him kneeling and her standing, for awhile; and anyone who saw it would remember it as one of the most incredible feats ever accomplished.

* * *

Mycroft put Kieran's file aside, patting it gently. In the time after that, El-Hashem had become the one person he knew he could trust to protect Harriet with his own life. The two had established a rapport that nothing could break apart. Kieran worked for the government only because Harriet did. He and Mycroft were close, yes, but Harriet was the one he was truly loyal to. It had been because of Kieran that she had come up with the idea - a sort of, personal, high-level spy team that could do things the military and other groups couldn't. A team made up of the best of the best of the best. He had agreed, curious as to what she would do. The next member had surprised him. He picked up the file, looking at that photo as well. The woman was dark skinned, very dark. She was of African descent, with high cheekbones wand wispy, black hair. She wasn't exactly conventionally beautiful, but her wide nose, full lips and black eyes had a trace of a 'bring it' attitude to them. She was tough, muscular and broad shouldered, not to mention a bit famous. There were few in International Intelligence that **didn't** know the name written on the file's edge:

'Alpha 03: Sekhet Kebi'


End file.
